


Starless Nights and Satellites

by Thunderbirds_and_Lightning



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst and Feels, Choose Your Own Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John's POV but you can read it as yourself if you like, POV Second Person, Rescue Missions, Space Stations, Whump, hacking - um i mean acquiring access, lies spies and espionage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderbirds_and_Lightning/pseuds/Thunderbirds_and_Lightning
Summary: A choose-your-own-adventure story as a birthday gift for LenleG.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Starless Nights and Satellites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LenleG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenleG/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday to the wonderful LenleG!  
> <3  
> (LenleG's incredible story [ Bring Our Starman Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209292/) was one of the first Thunderbirds fics I ever read and brought me into the wonderful world of FANFICTION! I strongly suggest you go give it a read if you haven't already.)  
> So, this is my (slightly late) birthday present.  
> Enjoy!  
> :D  
> \-----  
> There are two different endings, see if you can find them both!

You wake up to the sound of a blaring alarm. The blurry form of EOS hovers over your head, lights flashing red. A sinking feeling nestles in the pit of your stomach. What's going on? Do you...

Wake up and try to work out what's happening?  
Try and get back to sleep?

The hatch spirals open to the globe room. You drift through, EOS having switched the gravity off again after pinballing you to location. Fastest method of transport, she said. It'll be fun, she said. Tell that to your headache.

And then you realise why EOS called you out. There are angry alerts of varying shades of red, sprawled across the world and floating off it. Tsunamis, earthquakes, forest fires, minor asteroids... this list goes on. However, there are two emergencies which catch your attention. Which do you handle first?

A satellite collision with a transport vessel; geostationary orbit. 

Seaquake in the Pacific. 

You waft a hand at EOS's camera, murmuring that you "wanna sleep," in an exhausted, space-weary voice. EOS doesn't agree. She shuts the gravity off and sends you catapulting towards the ceiling.

Ow. EOS, was that really necessary?

You must have accidentally said that out loud, because EOS replies that yes, it really was. She's getting snarkier by the minute. Right, what to do now?

Grab a bite to eat, preferably a bagel.

Head to the globe room. That should help.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bagel: eaten.

Stomach: full.

EOS: still yelling at you to get a move on! Better do as she says.

Head to the globe room.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Okay. From what you can gather, a transport vessel deviated from its course courtesy of an unknown engine malfunction, ploughing into the newly-built Global Two. You've called Global Two and no one's sustained any major injuries from the impact, but there's a small rupture on the exterior of the hull that needs patching up. The transport vessel isn't responding.

Global Two is one of Thunderbird Five's closest neighbours. Do you hail Thunderbird Three and wait for backup, or head out yourself?

Wait for Thunderbird Three. Something here seems a little strange...

It's close, and if you take the exopod then you can zip there and back in no time. Let's go!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A quick scan of the area informs you that the Pacific and Indo-Australian plates are rubbing up against each other, causing the ground beneath the sea to tremble. So far, no victims. Better keep an eye on it, as when tectonic plate-induced quakes occur, volcanoes and lava and tsunamis are almost guaranteed to follow. What do you want to do?

Ask Gordon to check it out while the seaquakes are small and manageable.

Leave it. It isn't an issue at the moment, and there are more important concerns. Namely, that satellite collision.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nope. Just nope. You go with your gut instinct: to leave this situation well alone until you have the protection of the rocket and its more-than-capable pilot. Patching a call to the Island, you leave a message for Alan which details the situation and what to bring for assistance. He'll be up to meet you in... about twenty minutes. In the spare time you now have, what do you do?

Deal with the smaller emergencies piling up in IR's backlog.

Investigate further. Something's fishy here and you know it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Mechanical systems clunk and whirr as robotic arms assemble the exopod around you. It'll be fine. A quick in, check on the crews, and out. EOS can monitor and divert calls while you're gone. You double-check the seals in your helmet, then:

"Exopod is go."

The airlock door spirals open and the difference in pressure catapults you into the inky darkness. Five shrinks in an instant, the exopod's powerful engines cutting through the vacuum with ease. There's a tingle in your chest and flutters in your stomach.

_You can do this._

Fingers curling around the controls, you press the button to enhance your speed. Almost instantly you feel the difference, pressed back into the metal and carbon, a point of light streaking through open space. Within minutes you're on location.

Yeah, this looks pretty bad. Metal panels are torn away and there are jagged edges slicing into the other craft, both ways. You hear hissing, and turn to see the gash in Global Two's hull, still venting precious oxygen. The station would have been new, shiny, scratch-free; now the paintwork is a slashed mess. You can only hope that everyone's alright. Still, something feels... off. What's your first move?

Seal up the hole, then check on the crew of Global Two.

Go to see how well the transport vessel fared.

Something still seems wrong. Head back to Thunderbird Five and wait for backup.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You open a comms link direct to the squid's bedroom.

"Gordon?" you call hesitantly. There's no response, and video feed shows his bedsheet ruffled and duvet deposited on the floor. He must be out already, despite it being four in the morning, Island time. You go for the hangars next.

Thunderbird Four floats in her tank, par usual, releasing the occasional bubble as she tilts and frees hidden air pockets. No squid to be found.

You remember the portable comms unit in his watch, and you check that. Gordon's face appears, bumping up and down as he presumably jogs round the island.

Your face says it all. "Four am? Really?"

"What can I say? I like to be alert as soon as possible. Besides, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"We've got a situation. I'll debrief once you've launched from the Island." You pause. "Gordon?"

"That's my name, space case," Gordon grins.

"Where are you, anyway?"

He glances up, then tilts his wrist so the camera sees a long stretch of golden sand, fringed with palm trees and rugged rock faces. "Uh, I'd say just past Satellite Hill." The camera moves back to his face. "I'll head back now."

And he cuts the connection. Well, that's good. You'll be alerted once he launches and then you can guide him through the situation. What to do now?

Deal with the smaller emergencies piling up.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You and EOS make light work of the other calls flooding in, diverting some to local authorities and sending instructions for others over to Thunderbirds One and Two. Phew! Now with some of the other situations sorted, you...

Go check on Thunderbird Four's progress (seaquake situation).

Head to the airlock to wait for Alan (space situation).

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You hack- erm, _acquire access_ to some classified logs of satellite construction dates. It turns out that Global Two is completed but isn't due to be launched for another three months! Why is it up there so early? Who moved it? And, more importantly, what to do?

Contact Kayo. She's the expert in all things secret and has a few techniques of her own to get information.

This is too far out of International Rescue's league. Place this situation to one side and go sort out that seaquake.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


After gathering chunks of debris which now float around both stricken craft, you select one of the larger, flatter pieces and begin to weld it to the hull with your plasma cutter. Blue sparks fly from the metal and dissipate as you work, the flashes of light bouncing off your suit and helmet.

Okay. You lean back slightly, the exopod's engines pushing you away from the ship as you inspect your handiwork.

The hissing has stopped, and upon inspection so has the air leak. It's sealed, for now. What to sort out next?

Try establish contact with Global Two's crew.

Check the damage to the transport vessel.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You glide over to the other ship and gasp - bad idea with a limited oxygen supply. It's a mystery how this transport vessel ever received its space license. The walls are breaking apart, glass is shattered and the bolts holding it together are loose. You run a finger along the paintwork and it just... crumbles. In fact, it doesn't look as if it were inhabited in the first place. There's no emergency lighting and despite the numerous holes in the hull, no hiss of escaping air.

Open all frequencies. "Hello?" you call. It echoes around the empty ship with no response. Taking a deep breath, you check the life-signs for this area.

Nothing.

You shake the device on your wrist. It's probably glitched, or something. But, as you zoom out, you see the blips that show your heartbeat and body warmth, and the clusters of signs over in Global Two. For this ship - nothing.

But that's not the only unsettling discovery. According to your scans, not only are there no people here, there never _were_. This transport vessel has been completely empty from the day it was created. _And,_ judging from the impact angle with Global Two, there was no course correction. One solid line from wherever it was launched.

Bile rises in your throat. Someone had done this, caused this much destruction and panic... on _purpose_? Who? And _why_? And, more importantly, what do you do about it?

Contact Kayo. International Rescue doesn't deal with this type of situation, but (however much Scott insists not to) Kayo does anyway.

Nothing you can't handle. Head back to Global Two and check on the crew there.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The little yellow blip indicating the little yellow sub is beginning its journey across the Pacific to Papua New Guinea and that seaquake. Due to the disaster occurring in the early hours, people were caught out and there are several boats taking on water or stranded up on deserted islands. No incoming tsunamis as of yet, but best to help those in need before the situation worsens.

You open a comm link. "Morning, Gordo."

"It's still night, space case. How are you doing?"

You raise one eyebrow and hope the holographic emitters can transfer your disapproving glare. " _I'm_ fine, and you?"

"Oh, you know, never been better."

"And you were up at four in the morning?"

Gordon shrugs, adjusting an instrument on the dashboard. "I had a late rescue, didn't get much sleep. Decided to get up and put my wakefulness to good use."

"You, Gordon Cooper Tracy, woke up _voluntarily_?"

He nods. "So, what have I got?"

You explain to him the seaquakes and the locations of the various crafts in distress, watching as he plots in the coordinates. There's a lot of them, all along the plate border.

"Well, that's me sorted for today. See you this evening!" he says with a grin, then signs off.

That's the seaquake issue fixed at the moment. What to do now?

Deal with the satellite collision.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Thunderbird Three docks with a clunk, and the airlock doors hiss open. Alan drifts through and you only have a moment to steady yourself before he squishes you in a bone-crushing hug. "I've missed you," he murmurs. You promise that there'll be time to catch up later, but there's an urgent situation which requires your attention and you need to head off. Alan nods and detaches.

After loading up the exopod, you slip into the co-pilot seat and lower the restraints over your shoulders as the rumble of Three's engines rolls through the ship. The grappling arms disengage and fold back into the main body of the rocket as Three turns, jetting off to the satellite in trouble. Now you have backup in the form of the fastest ship in the solar system, you feel a lot more confident.

Let's go!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You open a comms link to Kayo's room, audio only. Light snoring echoes through the speakers, and you venture, "Kayo? You up yet?" That was stupid, because of _course_ she's not awake. Then the snoring cuts off in a snort, and Kayo hisses, "What do you want?" The sun isn't even up yet, and you know that disturbing a Kayo outside of sun-up is comparable to poking a bear with a stick. Inadvisable, unless you wish to finish the day minus a few limbs.

You explain the situation and your concerns about it. Kayo says she'll be out with Shadow in ten minutes. True to her word, ten minutes later on the dot, Shadow unhooks itself from the rockface and glides off into the night. She goes through various ideas for who the craft could belong to and settles on two possible people: The Hood, locked up in Parkmoor Scrubs, and the boss of a multibillion-dollar international company who remains anonymous. Who should Kayo look into first?

The Hood. To quote Alan, "If you look up sabotage in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of the Hood."

The anonymous businessperson. They must be anonymous for a good reason.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Global Two isn't doing much better. The station groans, listing to one side in zero-G. You attach a portable comms panel to the side of the hull. This should amplify any signals both going into the station and coming from it.

"Global Two, please respond."

The crackle of static. There are people here - you double-check the life-signs scanner to be sure - but they evidently either can't hear or reply. If their communications are scrambled, then they won't have any way to receive or transmit.

However, to be qualified for space, you need to know morse code by heart. You find your amplifier and carefully tap out: _International Rescue. Can you hear me?_

There's a reply almost instantly. _Can hear you. Venting air. None injured._

_Leak is sealed. Will get you out. Stay calm. Put helmets on so I can cut the ships apart._

As you set up the plasma cutter on your wrist, someone taps out a reply that makes goosebumps rise on your arms.

_get out asap you need to go we'll be fine go now-_

Then nothing. You tap, _hello?_

No response. Chills roll down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling as a precursor to some terrible event. A _warning_.

A flicker of movement in the corner of your vision. You whip round to face it, pressing your back to Global Two and trying to calm your racing heart and holding your breath as if whatever it is could hear your unease.

Out of nowhere someone latches onto the wings of the exopod, pinning you as you struggle. There's a _crack_ , searing pain blossoming in your head as your vision fades into blackness. A rough voice murmurs, "Got 'em,", and you can feel yourself being dragged aside as you drift in and out of the throes of unconsciousness. Your limbs feel sluggish and caught about five seconds behind real time, reactions slowed. In this compromised state, what can you do?

Fight them! Use every ounce of strength you have left.

Don't resist. You're tired, and the darkness is so warm, and comforting, and you could just float...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The anxious feeling in your stomach is quelled by the quietly looming presence of Thunderbird Three, hovering like a guardian angel above your head as you survey the situation. It's bad, but nothing two members of IR can't fix. Damage assessed, what's your plan?

Seal up the hole, then check on the crew of Global Two.

Go to see how well the transport vessel fared.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Parkmoor Scrubs Prison is helpfully lit up like a runway. Thunderbird Shadow perches on the roof of the building like an oversized pigeon, and Kayo hops down. A quick word with the GDF guards and one security scan later, the door slides open for her. She strides along the passageway and her footsteps echo in the night.

"Good morning, Uncle," she says stiffly, glaring at him from outside his isolated cell.

"A pleasure as always, dear Tanusha." A pause. He doesn't turn to face her. "I presume this isn't a social call, at such ungodly hours?" His voice is sweet and dripping, poisoned honey.

Kayo narrows her eyes at him, before pulling up the holographic schematics of both Global Two and the unidentified shuttle. "You don't happen to know anything about these, do you?"

"Ah, Global Two, such fine technology. Supposed to be active in three months?"

He waits for a reaction from his niece, but her poker face reveals nothing. The Hood continues. "What a shame it would be for something to go _wrong_."

Kayo's at the door, hands pressed against bulletproof glass and chest heaving. "What do you know?" she hisses.

"No more than you, dear child." He examines his fingernails. "Probably not best to jump to conclusions now."

A GDF guard whispers something to Kayo, and she nods. "Hood?" she calls.

"Yes, Tanusha?"

"I know what you're up to. You won't get away with this."

He laughs, a hollow, guttural sound of sardonicism and mockery. "Oh, Tanusha. I already have."

  


She stalks back to Shadow and thwacks the comms button direct to Thunderbird Five, not bothering with greetings. "It's him," she seethes, "I know it. Send the space elevator, I'm coming up. We'll stop him."

Prepare for Kayo's arrival up on Five.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Anderson Enteprise's HQ is a skyscraper on the west bank of the Chicago River, elevated half a mile higher than the surrounding city. And that's just how Freya likes it: peaceful, no interruptions bar the squawk of passing birds. She doesn't mind those. Anderson is a name recognised globally, _everyone's_ heard of the multibillion-dollar business. Yet, no-one knows the face of its owner.

Freya lives a simple life. With unmemorable hazel eyes and auburn hair which frizzes up no matter the amount of conditioner she uses, you could pass her on the streets and not spare a second glance. Freya enjoys that, relishes in the anonymity. Everybody knows her company, her business, her investments. Nobody knows _her_.

Which is why when someone raps on her door like they're using her house as a punching bag, she doesn't really know what to _do_. Patting down her untameable mane as best as she can, Freya makes for the peephole. "Hello?" she calls, uncertain. "Anybody there?"

"Hey Freya, I'm with International Rescue," comes the voice, female and quite a bit younger than her.

International Rescue? _Here?_ How do they know who she is, and her location? "But I don't need rescuing! At least, I don't think?"

The door swings open. "No, you're not in any danger," the young woman assures, swinging her ponytail back and forth. "I'm Kayo, IR's chief of security." Kayo extends a turquoise-gloved hand for Freya to shake. Freya does, and tries not to wince at the sheer strength of her grip.

Kayo explains why she's here, asking Freya a host of questions about recent transactions, business partners, anything out of the ordinary? No, Freya replies, everything's been okay. She feels rather embarrassed at the fact that she'd been shuffling around her apartment in bunny slippers, but it doesn't matter. Kayo doesn't mind. She respects Freya for the powerful force she is, appearance aside.

"Actually," Freya muses, "there was something which caught my attention."

Kayo stops mid-sentence. "What was it?" she says quietly.

"Have you heard of Umberto Sandalio?" Kayo nods, and Freya continues. "He's a frequent investor and trades well with Anderson Enterprise. One day, he purchased... like two hundred tonnes of sheet metal, and that's not like him, _at all_. Sandalio usually buys diamonds, gold, precious metals; not _steel_."

"And did you speak to Umberto?"

"Not in person; in hologram. But he seemed kinda... off. Pale, voice hitching. I thought it was a dodgy connection."

Kayo nods, thanks her, slips out of the room and disappears in a craft as black as night. "It's the Hood," Kayo tells you, already en route to the prison, "I'm _sure_ of it."

Check on the Hood.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


With the last of your waning energy you lash out, gangly limbs colliding with the bulky spacesuit of your captor. It hasn't done much damage, you believe, as you feel like a limp strand of spaghetti with comparable physical strength. Agh... you can't feel your fingers any more. That's not good.

You can feel yourself being yanked around with far more force than is necessary to move your dead weight. Your vision's blurring, darkness encroaching like a photo vignette, and you don't know how much longer you can last.

"Alan," you whisper, voice breaking, "Thunderbird Three? Help me, please, I need-"

A grunt. "Quiet, you," one of your captors growls. There's a _shink_ of a knife blade and then the buzz of static, broken comms, echoing around your helmet, smothering the last of your senses with all-encompassing noise. You feel a sudden release of pressure, and the sunshine-yellow blur of the exopod is ripped away from you by gloved hands and unceremoniously yeeted into the far depths of inky space.

Ah. You probably needed that, with extra oxygen and all.

The searing pain in your skull has ebbed away, and with a sickening lurch you realise that so has everything else. You can't feel _anything_.

Hypoxia's kind like that.

There's a red blur sweeping across your remaining vision - familiar, faithful IR red, flickering black as your eyelids refuse to stay open any longer. All you can hear is the rasp and rattle of your own hollow breaths, and something like... _voices?_

Then nothing at all.

Another perspective.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_The men scarper as soon as Thunderbird Three approaches. They were hired cheaply, empty promises of wealth and untold riches fueling the desire to assist their employer._

_But they're cowards, all of them. The moment they're faced with real conflict, they flee._

_Alan glides out of the airlock on an astroboard, heart thudding and chest filled with leaden worry. He sees the yellow speck of metal and carbon fibre first, rushes over, finds an empty shell. The molten lead seeping into his chest only increases._

_And then he spots the flash of blue. His heart's in his mouth and he's quivering as he scoops up the unconscious figure, head tilted back, eyes glazed and unseeing and there's no way in a million years that they could have survived this and... and..._

_Alan's heart stops at the flutter of a pulse._

_There's hope. He's not losing anybody today._

_The minutes blurs together. He's back aboard Three inhumanly fast but he doesn't care, he's levering the helmet off, pressing two pale fingers to a pulse point to check it wasn't his shattered mind imagining something that clearly isn't there..._

_But it is._

  


There's the faintest of brushes on your wrist, then quivering pressure on your neck. A beat. A sigh, far away like it's been echoed through a train tunnel, and the pressure releases.

A quiet, shaking voice, like someone's trying unsuccessfully to repress their emotions. Like trying to block Niagara Falls with a sofa cushion. "Hey, are you in there?" the voice begins, trembling. "Come on, please wake up. Please..."

And you remember. The satellites. The darkness. The unmistakable blur of IR's rocket, and...

You gasp, oxygen filling your lungs, torso heaving as you take in the cool, sweet, fresh air. A sob. Sudden force on your chest, your shoulders, long teenaged arms embracing you as their owner whispers, "You're alive. You're alive," over and over like a mantra. You crack your eyelids open to see Alan's blond head pressed into your chest and holding you like the last safe place in the universe. " _Alan_ ," you wheeze, your throat rubbed red and raw.

Alan looks up, hesitates.

"I'm fine," you reassure, "Don't worry, Allie. It's okay. It's oka- oof!"

"I w's so sc'red I lost you," Alan murmurs, voice barely above a whisper as he buries his head in your arms. "I- we-" His vulnerable blue eyes are on the verge of tearing up.

"It's fine," you say, stroking his downy hair with the back of your hand, "I'm here, and you saved me. Thank you."

"Y'r welcome. Jus'... just glad I w's... close enough t' help."

You sigh. "Love you, Allie."

"L'v you too."

\----------------

FIN

Back to the beginning.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Shadow's back on autopilot for the Island and Kayo is four minutes away from storming up to Five and hacking every major government in a ten-country radius. "Can you get any scans of the craft?" she asks, comms crackling. You reply that you'll see what you can do, before assigning EOS the task of enhancing every scrap of information you have on the matter. She returns moments later with a zoomed-in logo in peeling paint, positioned on the outer rim of the airlock.

Kayo inspects the image and does a little bit of, erm - _acquiring access_ to the GDF systems, before finding a logo identical to the one on the shuttle. "That's the Hood," she insists, and you can't argue. The symbols are identical.

The space elevator docks and Kayo storms out, eyes smouldering and fists curled into tight balls. You're just glad that she's on your side.

One slightly illegal information check later, Kayo comes across a set of coded transmissions originating from Parkmoor Scrubs Prison. EOS decodes them in less time than it takes to toast a bagel, and it appears that the Hood had a particularly devious plan...

In essence, he had a guard who agreed to help him: they switched places so the Hood could send messages to people outside without raising suspicion. The traps were set, the rockets launched remotely... and then the shuttle ploughing into Global Two. This was intentional. He had devised a plan which involved kidnapping a member of International Rescue (you feel sick at this point, that could have been you had you not followed your gut instinct), then using them for information and a bargaining chip.

Nobody would have found out until it was too late.

  


The Hood: 80% evil and 20% eyebrows. How could he risk the lives of innocent people, all for one IR member? The very thought churns your stomach. The astronauts trapped on the station aren't guilty, you're sure of it, roped into some elaborate scheme they knew nothing about. Alan's on standby, and you send him instructions to tow Global Two somewhere out of the way and rescue the crew. Kayo's already sent a message to the GDF so they can surround the criminals, and within moments the arrow-shaped GDF craft are darting past Five's windows and towards the shuttle. That'll get them, and they won't see anywhere but the inside of the Hex for the next thirty years.

You're shaking, muscles spasming, and you need to clutch the bulkhead to hold yourself steady. Bile rises in your throat. This could have gone _so much worse_ , and with every fibre of your being you're glad it didn't.

EOS helpfully reminds you that it has just passed 6 am, and you can't believe it. Two hours, for such an extraordinary turn of events? Your legs are shaking; you feel as if they could collapse underneath you at any moment. EOS suggests you sleep a little longer, and for once you don't protest. Just climb into bed, pull the covers over your chest and lose the chaos of the day to velvety, dreamless darkness.

\----------------

FIN

Back to the beginning.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I used [ How to Make a "Choose Your Own Adventure" Fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514573/) by La_Temperanza for the skin coding, so go check them out!


End file.
